


The Pied Piper

by Stephquiem



Series: Going Back [2]
Category: Animorphs (TV), Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dysfunctional Relationships, Excessive Swearing, Involuntary infestation, Other, Self-Insert, complicated family relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephquiem/pseuds/Stephquiem
Summary: The Animorphs discover the origin of dogs, find out who really built the pyramids, and gain a new ally. Meanwhile, the war becomes very, very personal for their newest member.Takes place during #10 The Android.





	1. Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> Some important housekeeping: If you've read [my other series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/732855), the characters introduced in this chapter will be very familiar. To be clear: the events of Going Back and the events of Brain Trust have nothing to do with each other. They happen in completely different alternate universes. When I wrote Brain Trust, it was because I had the itch to write characters from Going Back but didn't, at the time, want to work on Going Back specifically. That said, because I set out with different intentions when creating each, some characters are at drastically different points in their lives.
> 
> tl;dr if anyone is wondering why Ben is 42 with a family in this, the answer is that was how I originally wrote him circa 2002.

_**Priton** _

Humans have this idea of “karma”--that what goes around comes around. Eventually, I guess, you have to pay for everything, one way or another.

When I first heard about it, it seemed like bullshit to me. Something someone had made up to make them feel better because someone had wronged them and gotten away with it.

Maybe I was wrong, though. All of my happiness was stolen--it was only a matter of time before that fact came back to bite me in the ass. 

The thing that I think gets left out of the history books is this: a traitor is not born, he’s made.

Benedict Arnold was a badass war hero who nearly lost his leg fighting for America, but he’s only remembered for turning traitor after he kept being passed over for promotions and getting screwed over and over again. Hell, they even erected a statue to  _ his injured leg _ .

No portion of me had ever been anything so lofty as a war hero, but I’d been an okay approximation of a good little soldier. I mostly kept my head down. I did as I was told. If I didn’t exactly do my job with enthusiasm, well, at least I  _ did  _ it. 

I found I liked the simple life. Sure, for that first year, my host despised me, but that mostly proved that he was a good judge of character, honestly. But I liked my home life. It was simple, it was easy, and it was separate from everything else I did. When I came home at night, I’d sit around the dinner table with Ben’s family, and listen to Amy, his stepdaughter, talk about the picture she’d drawn during art class, and Janet, his wife, talk about how they finally found room in the budget to replace the office copier at her work, and I would tell them about the antics of my students and leave out how earlier that day I had held down the brightest kid in the eleventh grade while a slug crawled into his ear. Ben would stew in the background, and I’d ignore him because that was what you did with hosts, and I pretended to myself that partaking in family life was a nuisance I had to deal with.

And then one day, Amy came home and babbled on and on about how a Sharing recruiter had stopped by her classroom that afternoon, and I had a very hard time convincing myself that the horror I felt was  _ only  _ at the thought of having my peace disrupted. 

Jesus Christ, she was only seven.

The next day, I went down to the park district and signed Amy up for soccer. That weekend, we went to the park and practiced shooting goals. She never brought up the Sharing again, and I slowly but surely moved off my host’s shit list.

Two years later, my only goal in life was to keep these three humans safe, and to not die in the process. I thought, often, that if I could figure out a way to get my hands on a portable kandrona, I would have packed up our stuff and gotten the hell away from the Empire. 

Aside from getting overly attached to my host, it wasn’t really treasonous. Not when you got down to it. I didn’t sympathize with the Andalites, and side-eyed the so-called “Andalite Bandits,” as, though they were ostensibly trying to help humanity, which was a boon for Ben and company, I highly doubted that even host sympathizers could expect anything good if they won the war.

That’s where I was. Trying to enjoy the little slice of happiness I’d stolen for myself, for as long as I could.

That morning, I got ready like any other day. Mornings were always chaotic for one reason or another--my lesson plans somehow found their way into the fridge. The coffee maker was busted, leaving me with a cranky wife. Pluto had mysteriously disappeared from Amy’s coat hanger model of the solar system, and we had to scramble to find it before the bus came.

Still. If I could go back to it, I would.

After corralling a bereft nine year old--Pluto was never recovered--and kissing Janet goodbye, I set off for work. There was a long day of student presentations to look forward to. I was seriously considering letting Ben take over so I didn’t have to pay attention. Ben usually appreciated when I gave him free reign, but he also knew me well enough to know when I was just being a lazy asshole.

The morning dragged, predictably, and when the my lunch break finally arrived, I knew what I  _ should  _ spend the period doing. I had forty-five minutes to start grading student projects. That was forty-five minutes I could spend doing literally anything else later on. 

Instead, on a whim, I decided to go out.

<Where are we going?>

<I’m feeling like McDonald’s,> I answered, though I really hadn’t been thinking of it at all until he asked. Ben tactfully refrained from pointing out that we’d brought our lunch that day.

There was a McDonald’s on the next block over, so that was where I headed on foot.

Or at least, that’s where I  _ meant  _ to head.

<Uh, Priton?> Ben said after we’d gotten out onto the sidewalk. <Isn’t the McDonald’s in the other direction?>

I stopped walking, blinking as I turned to look behind us. Jesus, he was right. I turned around. <Obviously all the presentations have fried my brain.>

<Obviously.>

I started walking again. But a minute later, we were no closer than we had been--in fact we were closer to the  _ opposite  _ end of the street.

<Priton?>

<I just remembered we need a book from the library,> I said. I thought that I might have been a good enough liar that Ben might have believed that, if he couldn’t feel the way our heart started to race. Something wasn’t right. I couldn’t fathom what, not yet, but something didn’t feel right.

My feet were taking us toward the library. I let them. I didn’t really have a choice.

The library was at the end of the same street where the high school was. I’d been there many times over the last three years. Ben liked its history section, but wished they had more sci-fi. I was going to really miss having no reason to have an opinion.

When we reached the library, instead of heading for the front door, I looped around the back. Ben said nothing, curious to see where my new found madness was going to take us now.

Behind the library was a small alley. There was a dumpster and little else. Or, at least, it seemed that way until I stepped farther in and got a better view of what was hiding in the space between the dumpster and the brick wall of the building.

There, lurking in that narrow space, was a nightmarishly mutated shape--mostly bird, but growing. And changing.  _ Morphing. _ But the shape emerging was no Andalite.

<Is that-->

<Yeah.> I stood very still, watching as the bird-human’s head sprouted brown hair. Part of me thought I should alert someone. Objectively, that was the right thing to do. An enemy was there in front of me, vulnerable, and capturing her would be a victory for the Empire. Hell, I’d be a fucking  _ hero _ .

The thing is, I'm really not cut out to be anyone's hero.

A very different possibility was forming in my mind, though. Have you ever had a sudden, vivid moment of clarity? That moment when what you need to do becomes so clear, your path so obvious? A solution to problems I couldn’t ignore forever was sitting right there before me.  _ An escape.  _

Split second decision time. <Ben,> I said quickly. <Go home.>

<What?>

The head was almost entirely human, the first body part to emerge fully formed.  _ Jesus, she’s a kid _ , I heard Ben think. I didn’t care. Something was very concerned that I be there, at that time, and who was I to argue with fate? Especially when it aligned with my needs. A morph-capable human had to mean there was an Escafil Device somewhere nearby, right? 

I took a step forward. <Tell them you’re sick. That you’ve got an emergency. Whatever. You should be at home. Go to your family.> My calm tone was somewhat undermined by the lump in my throat.

<What are you doing?> I felt his anxiety swelling, mixing with my own. <Priton?>

<Go home, Ben,> I said again, more forcefully now. I tried to imbue those words with the things I couldn’t say. I probably failed.

I took another step. She must have heard me, because she turned around. I saw a flash of fear on her face before I lunged.

<No!>


	2. Existentialism

_**Steph** _

A hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my scream. The man’s body slammed into mine, effectively pinning my arm to his chest. After the initial shock, I realized that drawing _more_ attention was the last thing I wanted to do. I was still partly bird, after all. Minimize the damage.

Instead, I tried to thrash, to throw him off. He responded by twisting my body until my side was pressed into the brick wall. I saw his face coming towards mine and, almost instinctively, I squeezed my eyes shut. My head moved jerkily as he tried to position it and I tried to fight him off. And then…

He pressed his ear against mine, and a moment later I felt it. Something small and slimy pressed into my ear, and then I felt the dulled pain as it entered.

No! My renewed struggles were slightly more desperate now, but no more effective. Stupid, stupid, _stupid._ I had been so stupid, and now I had ruined everything. Already. So much for--

 _Morph!_ I realized, belatedly, that morphing was the only way out of this. A Yeerk couldn’t fit in a falcon’s brain, right? I thought not, anyway.

I focused on the Merlin Falcon again, desperately intending to reverse the morph. Nothing happened. Panicking, I tried to renew my efforts, but by now there wasn’t much point. I wanted to cry, but no tears were forthcoming.

Finally, my eyes opened, seemingly of their own accord, and focused on the man who was still holding my head in his hands. I registered the horror on his face, but what good did that do me now?

“I’m sorry,” I heard him say.

My hands lifted until they grasped the man-- _Ben_ . I heard the name as a shared thought--by the wrists and pushed his hands away. And then, I heard my own voice say, _“Go.”_

* * *

 

**_Priton_ **

I didn’t watch Ben leave. Instead, I deliberately turned back to find the bag of clothes my new host had been aiming for. I ignored her racing thoughts--they were mostly gibberish without memory for context, and I was momentarily concerned only with one particular memory. I dug until I found what I was looking for-- _demorph._

I watched, idly fascinated, as the feathers flattened and disappeared into pale skin and black leotard.

I pulled a t-shirt and a pair of shoes from the bag and slipped them on. My new host was making pitiable noises that I continued to ignore. I wasn’t ever any good at reassurances, so I didn’t even try now. She’d be fine. Humans were resilient. And I wasn’t planning to stay long.

I crumpled up the bag and tossed it into the dumpster. <You don’t need it,> I told her, the first words I’d speak to her. <Flying in like that’s fucking dangerous.> Should I be swearing in front of a kid?

<Fuck you. Get out of my head!>

Never mind.

I walked out to the street, glancing briefly in the direction Ben had gone before turning and heading inside the library. I needed somewhere to think.

I found an empty corner with an armchair. I fell into it, closing my eyes like you might to concentrate, and opened the host’s memories.

It was not what I expected.

I didn’t have a lot of experience with human brains. I’d only ever had one host, and I tended to assume they worked mostly the same at a basic level. It is relatively easy, for instance, for me to differentiate between fiction and reality when looking through a host’s memories, even when they’re ostensibly about the same event. Like I could dig up information on the sinking of the Titanic, or I could find the scene from the movie where Leonardo DiCaprio draws a naked Kate Winslet. There was a clear and obvious difference between those things.

This brain, though, was a mess.

With a little effort, I started to piece together the strange picture. I can’t imagine what it must have looked like to outsiders. What does it look like when someone’s having an existential crisis? It's already a weird experience being in a new host's brain. The sights and sounds and smells and  _everything_ is a little different. It's like getting into a car that someone else has been driving--the seat's in the wrong position, the mirrors are all tilted the wrong way, and you have to readjust so that you can function again. Still, like cars, host brains come with the same basic functions and equipment, so to speak. They still came with instructions on how to move, how communicate. They all came with memories that were straight-forward enough to access.

Here, though, in this brain, I saw the past, present and future laid out in a confusing patchwork. Here was my host's childhood, memories of her family and friends and school, like you'd expect. But here also were things that were impossible to know. Here was the memory of battles that hadn't happened yet. Here was the result of the next presidential election. Here was the Empire's failure on a planet I had never heard of. Here was news and politics and media from the next few years. Here was the end of the war.

So few things in life would be better if a host was just crazy. Trust me, mental illness has a way of making itself obvious to a Yeerk in a brain.

For a person who had just that moment discovered that their whole world wasn’t real, I thought I handled it fairly well. I’m no better at emotional distress than I am at goodbyes. Action made things better. Always.

More than anything, in that moment, sifting through a new brain, and listening to my host wail at me, I wanted to go home. I wanted to return to the comfort of Ben’s more welcoming brain. I wanted to retreat, and forget, because the thing I had sacrificed for wasn’t even an option. Oh, I saw it there, too, in the future, but far ahead.

If I got up now and went to him, Ben would take me back. I knew this. But then what? If the impossible was true, there was nothing for me back there, and I’d just be putting Ben and his family in danger. And someone, it seemed, wanted me where I was.

Who was I to defy the will of gods?

At last, I addressed my host. <My name is Priton Six-Two-Four,> I said. <We might as well get used to each other.>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how much future "politics" Priton would have picked up, since I'm pretty sure the only thing I was that aware of pre-2000 (when, mind you, I was only 11 or 12) was Clinton's impeachment stuff. On the one hand, he probably doesn't care about human politics, but on the other this got me wondering if he/Ben voted in the '96 election, and does it count as voter fraud if a Controller votes.


	3. Erek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, prior to writing my last fanfiction series, I didn't really give much thought to what Priton did pre-GB!Steph. I think I had some vague notions that either solidified through writing that series, or got tossed out completely. A fairly early draft of Going Back, though, had Priton knowing Tom/Tom's second Yeerk. That got tossed because it was awfully plot convenient, but hey! Working for the Sharing is now an official part of Priton's multiverse canon, so you know what, when he says "Temrash was a moron," he's judging from personal experience as well as GB!Steph's brain.
> 
> There is, of course, a 100% chance that neither Temrash nor Tom's Yeerk #2 would remember who Priton was.

**_Steph_ **

It wasn't what I expected.

It wasn't as if I'd never thought about it, you know? But there was nothing to really compare it to. Maybe it's like being paralyzed, where no matter how hard you try, you just can't make your body move. You can think really hard about moving your hand, can perfectly picture the motion in your mind, but it never moves. Except in this case, it's going to move eventually--it just won't be you who does it.

I kept expecting Priton to rat us out. I thought it would be his first stop, once he got his bearings. I expected him to head straight for the nearest Yeerk Pool entrance. Instead, when we left the library that day, he went back to the barn like nothing was amiss. Barring that, I kept expecting him to give himself away. The first time we saw Ax, I expected it to go a certain way. Didn't every Yeerk ever have the same reaction to seeing an Andalite? All I could imagine was the last time something even close to this had happened. And yet, Priton was apparently unphased.

<Temrash was a moron,> Priton informed me.

<Fuck off.>

Priton didn't say much to me. Probably because when he tried, I mostly cursed at him.

The worst part--if it was even possible to choose--was that there was hardly a chance anyone would have noticed the change or a slip up anyway. Four days.  _Four days_ since I'd left home. I didn't think karmic punishment had ever been so quick. If he'd wanted to, Priton could have behaved however he wanted, and no one would have been the wiser. 

Two days after...  _after_ , we finally headed for a Yeerk pool entrance. Was the horror worse, I wonder, because I was a part of it now, or is there no real way to quantify that sort of thing past a certain point. The hopeless sounds of screams and cries from temporarily free hosts, the awful, unnatural calm of the newly infested, their faces still bearing evidence of distress. 

There's no escaping any of it. There's no looking away, there's no tuning it out. There's no escaping the hopelessness, and there's no escaping the feeling of failure. I had failed all of these people, _everyone,_ and I hadn't even begun to try.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to be sick. I wanted cover my ears and close my eyes and will myself home. But I couldn't do any of those things. I could feel--in a strange, almost out-of-body way--my stomach rolling as if I were on a boat at sea. Was that me? Could I still make that happen, subconsciously? Did my body still react to my thoughts, my feelings? Or were they all Priton's now? 

I couldn't imagine a reason why the Yeerk pool would make Priton sick, and the expression on my face remained as impassive as every other Controller in line, so maybe some part of my body, at least, still knew I was there.

When it was our turn, one of the Hork-Bajir at the edge of the pier offered a hand as Priton knelt. He didn't jerk away like I wanted to. He just kept lowering my head toward the pool's surface, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we weren't in hell.

There's something that I don't think anyone who hasn't been in the situation can fully understand. I know _I_  didn't understand until that moment. I had read about freed hosts struggling and screaming as soon as the Yeerk left their brain. I had seen this now, for myself, in person. But it doesn't make a lot of sense from an outside perspective, you know? Surely after the first time you'd realize that fighting against a Hork-Bajir was futile. It didn't matter how strong you were, a Hork-Bajir was stronger, and even if somehow it wasn't, there was no getting past those blades. What was even the point?

There wasn't a point. Not really. But that sudden feeling of freedom, fleeting though it is, is... indescribable. You can feel things again, properly, you can move again, even if it's just to struggle against the hands grasping you. You can open your own mouth. You can scream.

I gave into that primal urge to scream out my horror and terror and hopelessness, and then, as I was yanked back to my feet by alien hands that had been gentle and helpful only moments ago, I gave into that other urge that had been bubbling up inside me. As I was swung around, stumbling, to be led--dragged--towards the cages, I finally gave into the nausea that had been building in my stomach, and puked all over the ground in front of me. And the shoes of whoever had been waiting behind me.

I didn't register his face. There wasn't really time to. Not that it mattered, I suppose. I wouldn't have recognized him anyway.

* * *

 

We continued like that for a while. I kept expecting Priton to turn us in, he kept going about my business like nothing had changed. Somehow this was worse. Predictability was a comfort, even when the thing you predicted was terrible. It was a little like being in control if everything followed the path you expected it to, whether you had a direct hand in it or not. Was that it, then? Was this some perverse form of torture, of showing just how little control I really had? 

 _Why?_  Of all the thoughts I had in those first few days, this one, naturally, was the one Priton ignored.

Another uneventful feeding passed and then Jake and Marco found Erek at a music festival and it became clear that life was still chugging along, with or without me as an active participant. Here, though, I was sure was where the other shoe had to drop. There was no way Priton could allow things to happen like they were supposed to. Not only was there a bloody battle ahead of us that the Yeerks were sure to lose, but we were gaining a valuable ally in the process.

Priton opted to visit the Chee rather than hang back as back up, ostensibly because I would want to meet them. He wasn’t  _ wrong, _ much as I wished he was.

The visit went much as it should. My mouth made the appropriate noises. The others asked questions I knew the answers to. I thought that Erek looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t think of why.

<There’s a description of him the book.>

<Asshole,> I said, automatically. Priton sighed in my head.

As we were about to leave, though, Erek said, “Steph, can I talk to you for a sec?”

My body stiffened for a moment before Priton said, “Yeah, of course.” He flashed a smile at the others so they’d go on ahead, then he turned back to Erek. “What’s up?”

Erek glanced over my shoulder at the others, then, I guess when he decided we had privacy, he said, “So, who are you then?”

My face dropped suddenly into a blank mask. “What?”

Erek looked impatient. “I saw you,” he said. “I didn’t know it was you, but I saw you, and I don’t forget faces. Especially not with an introduction like that.” He eyed us, and I could feel Priton’s anxiety as we both realized just why Erek King looked so eerily familiar. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing at anything,” Priton stated tersely. “I’m trying to help.”

“But you’re a--”

“Yeah, and you’re a Chee who wants to fight in a war.” He shook my head. “Who do you think’s more of a disappointment to their people? I’d say it’s a toss up.”

<Some help.> Of course, he ignored that.

Erek’s expression was grim. “Do they know?”

“Of course not,” Priton said. “I’m still alive, aren’t I? And us having this conversation at all has to prove my intentions at least aren’t nefarious.” He flashed what I think was supposed to be a smile, but felt more like he was just bearing my teeth. “Trust me.”

The look on Erek’s hologram face said he thought that trust was a bad idea, but he still let us go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written this chapter a lot of different ways over the years--sometimes from GB!Steph's perspective, sometimes from Erek's, sometimes just as an implied scene because I was lazy and you can get away with all sorts of things when you're the only one reading your story, as evidenced by my always growing list of changes and/or subplots I've dropped completely--but I think "GB!Steph pukes on Erek the first time they see each other" is my new favorite.


	4. Calculated Risk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I've recently turned thirty, alternate titles for Going Back can now include "13 Going on 30." Did I think this would get to that point? No, but to be fair, that movie didn't come out until I was 15.
> 
> You know what the hardest part of writing a story over many drafts across many years? Knowing how characters develop and having to still write them in their pre-development stages. On the one hand--I know where it's all going, so I can set things up early for later pay off. On the other... God, these people are stubborn about changing. Pro-Tip: If you know you're a stubborn person, don't write self-insert fanfiction.
> 
> The second hardest part about writing a story like this is that I write stuff out of order, and so I have to scroll through my 105 page Google doc to find stuff I've already written. The second half of this chapter is on page 70 of that doc. Weirdly page 1 has stuff that won't come up until Megamorphs #4. And then, of course, there are parts I didn't prewrite. Like the first half of this chapter.

_**Steph** _

It's funny sometimes, realizing how much you really don't know. It was easy, I think, being the person who knows things. Much easier than it was to be in dark, anyway, or to experience things only as they happened--you know, like a normal person--but you'd be surprised how quickly you get cocky with that kind of mindset. A few weeks earlier, the discovery that there were things I didn't know about this universe I'd been thrust into might not have been so shocking. Of course there were things I didn't know. Or things I'd forget. It was going to be a long three years--at least--and the human brain wasn't designed to keep a perfect record of every single memory. Still, at this early stage, it was both strange to know so much and to realize how little I did.

Prime example: I didn't know Yeerks slept.

I know.  _I know._ It was stupid. There wasn't anything to support that. But for some reason that thought had been in my head, and Priton, I guess, didn't see a reason to correct me, and he almost always awoke before I did, so it probably took longer than it should have for me to realize I was wrong.

That night, after we'd gotten back from the Chee's, and once we were alone again in the barn, Priton stayed up a bit longer. He sat with my back pressed against the slanted ceiling of the hayloft, next to the window where we could see the faint outline of the house. The moon was only a tiny sliver in the sky that night, and there weren't really any streetlights out by Cassie's farm. He didn't say anything, and though he could hear all of my thoughts, I was rarely privy to his. Still, I thought maybe he was expecting Erek to do something. Maybe call Cassie and tell her just what was sleeping in her barn. I didn't know what Priton was thinking, but he had to be worried. There was no way he couldn't be, unless he was truly insane. For me, it felt like the end of my nightmare was within reach. It had to be.

He didn't call. Maybe he believed Priton when he said he wanted to help. Maybe he was curious how this was going to play out. Maybe he had some other reason that I couldn't fathom. I don't know. I just know that Erek didn't call, didn't rat Priton out. Maybe one day, if I had the opportunity, I'd ask him why.

I don't know how long we sat there, but eventually my back started ache from the unnatural angle that spot forced my body into, and fatigue started to creep in until Priton couldn't deny it anymore.

Sleeping with a Yeerk in your head is weird. Really, literally everything with a Yeerk is weird, but even involuntary processes feel alien. If you fall asleep first, it's like having a parent or babysitter or whoever hovering around you, trying to coax you into sleep when you don't want to, trying to be quiet and still so as not to disturb you and start the whole process again. When the  _Yeerk_ falls asleep first, though, it's something else entirely.

For the first time since I'd been infested, Priton fell asleep first that night. It was... bizarre. At first, there was a sense of irrational panic--that sensation of not being able to move or do anything was somehow amplified when I was the only conscious one in my head. Like those horror stories you hear about patients retaining consciousness on the operating table, but not being able to move and speak or scream to let anyone know that something is terribly wrong. 

Still. There was peace, too. I still couldn't move, it still felt like my body wasn't my own, I could still feel Priton there in a strange, inexplicable way--if Yeerks dreamed, I didn't know, but there was still another mind in my head with me, and somehow I could just  _feel_ it--but for those brief moments before I  succumbed to sleep, too, I was alone with my own thoughts for the first time in days.

* * *

 

I don’t know much about Yeerk anatomy, to be honest. I know that when a host dies, the Yeerk dies with it, unless it escapes first. I assumed it had something to do with the way the Yeerk was tied into the brain, but I really have no idea otherwise. I watched a documentary once, about parasites, and they explained how when people get sick from them, it’s usually because they got infected by accident--the parasite wasn’t aiming for them, but for some other animal that they’d evolved alongside. The parasite just wanted to go through its natural life cycle, but took a wrong turn.

I used to think that Yeerks didn’t evolve to be parasites so much as they stumbled into it. Like how herbivores can eat meat if they have the opportunity. Some Yeerk got smart, or maybe just lucky, and figured out how to infest some hapless Gedd, using their natural ability to squeeze themselves through a narrow ear canal the same way they propelled themselves when they swam. 

I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t. What I know, though, is that from a host’s perspective, a Yeerk is like a blanket over the senses. Nothing quite feels right. Sounds are more distant. Touch is like you’re always wearing thick gloves. Smell and taste are dulled, too. Sight’s kind of different, maybe because it’s less passive. Your eyes have to focus on objects to see them, and whether it’s you doing it or a Yeerk, the effect’s about the same. I don't really know.

Pain was strange. It’s like when you get local anesthetic--you know that something is happening to your body, and you know on some level that it  _ should  _ hurt, but instead you just feel pressure, or maybe little shots of dull pain.

I couldn’t feel my legs. That wasn’t so weird, I guess--it was becoming my new normal--but I knew that it was more than that. Through blurred vision, I could make out a wide pool of blood, and I realized, vaguely, that I was lying in it.

I felt weirdly detached. Like I was already dead and just no one else had gotten the memo yet.

I could still feel Priton. I could sense his mind working, even if I couldn’t make out his thoughts. Later, he would tell me that he was calculating the risk of escape. He figured out pretty quickly that it would probably be a death sentence either way.

<Why not just demorph?>

<Because then we’d be worse off than dead,> he said, sounding exasperated. 

A shape loomed over us. Priton looked up and I saw Erek’s android face above us. I saw blood on his metal body. Hork-Bajir blue. Human red. I saw hands coming toward us and then my eyes were closing. I felt Priton’s resignation, and then nothing until…

“Demorph!”

I don’t remember my body changing. I still felt like I was floating, but then, as the morphing healed my body, it felt like I was drawn back in, like my mind was attached to a tether.

When my eyes opened, I was on my back on the ground, staring up at the leaves of a tree. I could see Tobias perched in the branches before my eyes looked away.

I could feel my body shaking. I wanted to go home. I wanted to cry. I wanted this whole thing to be a hellish nightmare I could wake up from. I was a stupid, stupid child who hadn’t thought anything through.

I felt myself sit up and now I saw the others, in various states of demorphing. There was relief at seeing that they’d all still made it through, despite everything, but it was weighed down by the rest. 

I heard sobbing then. I knew before my head turned that it was Erek. 

The decision wasn’t conscious. Maybe it was because I’d always thought he needed it. Maybe it was because I needed the comfort, too.  It’s funny how one decision can completely change the trajectory of your life. Going to the library one day. Deciding to comfort a broken android.

I stood without thinking. Suddenly my legs were under me and I was walking the short distance to where Erek sat. He stiffened when I wrapped my arms around him, but he didn’t make me move. I sat and held him and closed my eyes against my own tears while he sobbed. And when he finally got up, I let him go. I felt spent. Like a deflated balloon.

It wasn’t until a little while later, when Priton quietly took back control, that I realized I had done all of that of my own volition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Priton's really not good at planning ahead. Mostly, he trusts his instincts and gets very, very lucky. This chapter includes arguably one of his best decisions.
> 
> I mean. Priton probably wouldn't agree with that, but no one asked him.


	5. Question and Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a double update because I thought this chapter was going to be too short before I actually wrote it.

_**Priton** _

It was very late--so late that it probably counted as early, really--but Steph was still awake. She shouldn't have been, it was going to make the next day a pain in the ass, but there wasn't a whole lot I could do about it. I couldn't control when my host fell asleep. Or if I could, I didn't know how, anyway. If things had been different, if our relationship had been different, I might have said something. But they weren't, and it wasn't. I could hear and feel her uncertainty. Her confusion. I knew she didn't know what to make of me, and honestly I wasn't sure what to do about that.

God, I missed Ben.

It wasn't fair. I knew I wasn't being fair. Ben had hated me, too, once, and it had taken a full year to figure out how to reverse it. But I didn't have a year to figure this out. 

I was lying there, my eyes closed in the hopes that it would somehow help things along, contemplating all of this when I heard a sound that didn't seem like it could have come from one of the barn's nocturnal residents.

My eyes flew open, but the rest of me froze as I listened. It had  _sounded_ like a floorboard creaking, and too distinctly to just be the building settling. Even as I held still, it occurred to me that if someone was there and didn't realize I was there, they wouldn't have any real reason to be so carefully quiet, this far from the house. 

"Don't worry. It's only me."

Somehow, recognizing the voice didn't make me feel any better.

Pushing myself into a sitting position, I scooted, somewhat ungracefully, to the edge of the hayloft. When I looked down, I could see Erek standing below. "Erek," I acknowledged. "Do you know what time it is."

He shrugged. "I figured this would be the easiest time to find you." I guess there was no arguing with that. "There a reason you're living like a hobo in Cassie's barn?"

"Yes." I swung my legs around so that they dangled over the side of the loft, blocking the ladder. "What do you want, Erek?"

I watched him consider my new position for a moment before he sighed and said, "I'm trying to figure out what you're doing here."

"I told you. I'm trying to help."

"Right. I see that." It was too dark to clearly make out Erek's expression, but I thought he was frowning. "What I still don't understand is why."

I thought about telling him--and by extension, Steph, who obviously was listening with interest--and then wondered if I was held to the same kind of restrictions Steph apparently was. No one had come tell _me_ what the rules were, of course, and I hadn't tested it yet, but somehow, I didn't want to find out in front of Erek of all people.

So, instead, I just shrugged. 

This lack of response seemed to annoy Erek, because he said, sounding exasperated, "You're a  _Yeerk."_

"I didn't expect you to be such a speciesist," I said. I wondered if he could hear my sarcasm.

From his unhappy tone, I assumed he did. "What I mean is, your people are the ones who are invading. The ones who started this war in the first place. What do  _you_ have to gain from helping the people you're invading,  _Yeerk?"_

It was probably a bad idea to antagonize someone who technically held my life in his hands. But I also heard this sort of thing all day, every day, and you know, it was one thing to hear it from humans, who had plenty of justification, or from young Andalite _arisths_ who'd been fed military propaganda from birth. Somehow it was another to hear it from an android who was as much a visitor here as I was. One who could leave much less easily than I could, too. So, hey. Maybe I had less patience to spare than I ought to have had.

"First of all," I said, "my name is Priton. Second of all, the three Yeerks who spawned me were barely older than grubs when Prince Seerow and company found the Yeerk home world. Surprisingly, no one thought to ask my opinion when I came along almost three Earth decades later. I'm no more responsible for the Empire's actions in this war than Steph here is responsible for America's actions in Vietnam. Or do you want to critique her views on the United States military, too?"

Erek was quiet for a long moment, contemplating that, I guess, and I sat, arms crossed over my chest, waiting. I might have guessed what he was going to say--I could see the conclusion being drawn in Steph's mind as I waited.

"Your host is involuntary," Erek pointed out. "Aren't you at least responsible for that?"

He was right, and I couldn't really refute it. 

"Speaking of which, there's something I've been wondering." Erek cocked his head to the side, and I could get a better look now at his thoughtful expression. "Why wouldn't a morph-capable host just escape?"

I snorted. "That's obvious. She would've been caught. Either by the Hork-Bajir guards, or if she'd been in the cages, there would have been too many witnesses who'd give her up the minute their own Yeerks were back in their heads." I shook my head. "She'd either be dead or captured again. Either way, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

<Better to be dead than a Controller.>

Was it, though? Pretty words for someone who I knew didn't believe that.

Erek, unsurprisingly, seemed to agree. "I think most would say the risk of death was worth it."

I smiled grimly. "Without life there can be no despair, but without life there can also be no hope."

Erek blinked at me, apparently surprised. "That's... philosophical of you?"

"It's a quote."

"Okay?"

"It's a quote," I said again, more forcefully this time, "from Elfangor's _hirac delest."_

If possible, Erek looked even more confused now. "From Elfangor's what now? What are you even talking about?"

" _Hirac delest._ It means 'final statement.' It's an Andalite thing. Like, a recording they make when they know they're about to die."

"Uh-huh. And, what, you've heard it?" Erek asked skeptically.

"Of course not. Even if the Empire somehow got their hands on it, they wouldn't pass it along to someone as low down in the order as me." I shook my head, laughing humorlessly. "But Steph's read it, oh, about a dozen times." 

"I don't understand."

"You asked me if there's a reason I'm living in Cassie's barn," I said. "The reason is that Steph doesn't have anywhere else to go. Because she's not from around here. And not like you or I aren't from around here. Like she's from an entirely different universe."

"What are you even talking about?" asked the android to the brain slug. As if either of us had room to question anything, honestly. "And what does this have to do with anything?"

I shrugged. "You asked why I'm here. I told you. You asked why we're staying in the barn. I told you. You want to know why I think Steph would rather be stuck with me than dead. I told you. I don't know what else you want from me." I pulled my legs back over the edge of the hayloft, as if that signalled an end to our conversation. "It's late. Some of us aren't ancient robots that don't need to sleep. Good night, Erek."

With that, I went back to our makeshift "bed," wondering if it was even worth it now. Out the window, I could see the sky just beginning to lighten. I didn't hear Erek leave, though he must have done. I didn't think that was the end of things, since we'd be seeing a lot of Erek and the other Chee, but there also wasn't a whole lot I could do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news if you're Team "Erek is Kind of a Shit"--Priton wholeheartedly agrees with you. Good news if you're Team "Priton is Kind of a Shit"--Erek agrees with you.
> 
> I have bad news, though, if you're Team "Both of Them are Shits." You're not wrong, but, uh... 
> 
> Also, literally all of my headcanons about Yeerk lifespans are things I made up whole cloth for the sake of having some mental idea of how old Priton is, and are based on literally nothing in canon.
> 
> It's also very unsurprising that Priton would use that particular Andalite Chronicles quote here, because, honestly, if I ever get a tattoo, it will probably be that quote.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on GB!Steph's age: My birthday is in June. She is coming from late July. I really don't think the Ellimist dropped her off in the Animorphs' universe in July. It makes it kind of hard to keep track of how old she is. Luckily, I've been using the same method to quickly guesstimate the Animorphs' ages in a given book since #53 was published. Basically, I add a year every fifteen main series books. I know. You're wowed by my precision. But also this is as simple as figuring out GB!Steph's age is going to get, so.

A couple days later, Priton complained to Cassie about how hard it was to get around town when he had to worry about morphing, or at least finding enough money for the bus. He also casually mentioned that my birthday was coming up.

<My birthday isn’t for months.>

<Hmm.>

And so, that was how we ended up with a bus pass--supplied by the collective efforts of the others, as a “birthday” present. Priton walked us down to the nearest stop by Cassie’s house, and didn’t say anything to me until it dropped us at the corner near the library.

He pushed through the doors and headed for a section I’d never been to before. I saw a sign above the shelves--”Mathematics.”

<I have a proposition,> Priton said as he came to a stop in front of one of the shelves.

<Do I have an actual choice?> I asked. I sounded bitter. I didn’t care.

My lips tightened into a thin line. <Look. I don’t really want to be here anymore than you want me here.> He sighed. <This isn’t how I meant for this to go.>

<How  _ did  _ you mean it to go? What’s even your endgame here?> That was the thing I really couldn’t figure out. Nothing that had happened since this whole thing had started made sense.

Priton didn't answer right away, seeming to mull over his answer. <I want to become a nothlit.>

<What?> I wasn’t sure what I was expecting him to say, but that wasn’t it. <We don’t have the blue box.>

<I know.>

<We might not get it for a  _ year. _ > Surely he could see the problem with this. <What are you going to do, fight your own people while you wait?  _ Really? _ >

My hand lifted and drew lightly across the spines of the books in front of us. <I’m willing to timeshare.>

<I don’t know what that means.>

<It means we can share control. You get control sometimes, I get control sometimes. As long as you don’t try to blab about me, everybody’s happy.> My hand tightened on the spine of one book-- _ Pre-Algebra-- _ and, before I could really process what he was offering, Priton added, <And if we’re going to have all this downtime to ourselves, I figure we might as well spend it doing something useful. Since you can’t go to school.>

<Are you trying to  _ bribe  _ me?> I asked, incredulous. <With use of  _ my own body?> _

<And books,> Priton said. <I don’t want a stupid host.> When I didn’t say anything, he sighed. <It’s the best I can do.>

I didn’t really have a choice. <So, what, are you planning to tutor me?> I asked sarcastically.

My lips twitched. Priton pulled the book from the shelf. <I was a high school teacher for three years.>

<Oh.> It was, I think, the first time he’d mentioned his old host. After an awkward beat, I asked, <Can we at least skip math?>

<No.>

<I really hate you.>

<I know.>

* * *

 

I found Erek on our next trip to the Yeerk pool. It helped, at least a little, to have a familiar face the first time I joined the other voluntaries to wait. It made me feel like less of a traitor to humanity. I wasn’t actually, but no one could know that.

He was standing at the back of a group of hosts who’d crowded around a television. Through a gap in the crowd, I could just make out the opening credits of  _ The Simpsons. _

“Hey,” I greeted, sidling up next to him.

If he was surprised to see me, his expression at least didn’t show it. “Hey. You two come to some kind of agreement?”

“I guess.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared straight ahead. I was trying, and failing, to block out the screams from the cages. Maybe this was a thing that got easier with time. Then again, I really hoped not.

I could feel Erek’s eyes on me for a long moment before I saw him shrug from the corner of my eye. “I guess you’d know his intentions better than I would.”

I snorted. “I think it’s less that he has good intentions, and more that he’s banking on future events.”

“What does that mean?”

“He has the benefit of foreknowledge,” I said. Casually, like it wasn’t important. Priton hadn't done a very good job of explaining things, but there wasn't much I could say considering where we were either.

“Like what, a psychic Yeerk?” Erek sounded amused.

“No. Sort of.” I glanced at Erek. He was squinting at me now, wondering, probably, if I was pulling his leg. “I’ll explain some other time.”

He just shook his head and turned back to watch the TV again. “Whatever. Okay.”

I watched him for a long moment while he, I guess, ignored me. I don’t know what possessed me next. Maybe it bothered me that he clearly didn’t believe me, even if I was telling the truth. Maybe I just wanted to get the better of someone for once. “Hey, Erek?”

“What?”

“The passcode is ‘six.’”

Very slowly, he turned to look at me, his expression confused. Wary. “What passcode?”

“To get into the ship,” I said brightly. I grinned at him, all innocence, while he clearly tried to decide if I was talking about what he thought I was, and whether or not anyone would have had time or reason to tell me about the Pemalite ship, let alone how to get onboard.

Finally, Erek said, “I don’t understand.”

“I know.” I turned away again. “I’ll explain later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends Part 2 of Going Back. Part 3's going to be a bit different, mostly because there's not anything really plot-important that happens in the next several books. But, you know, kind of miss out on a lot of development if I just skip ahead. Stupid linear storytelling. Anyway. Stay tuned for ruminations on time travel, the Great Jonathon Taylor Thomas vs. Jeremy Jason McCole Debate, probably something about oatmeal, idk, and probably even more long notes. I would feel bad for my narcissicism, but I am writing a self-insert fanfic, what do you want from me.


End file.
